


i promise (i'll do better)

by hollyhobbit101



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Good Dad Owen Strand, Hurt TK, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Overdosing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24010411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyhobbit101/pseuds/hollyhobbit101
Summary: The second Owen lays eyes on his son, he immediately knows he’d do anything to protect him from harm.“I promise, Tyler Kennedy Strand,” he whispers, almost so quiet he can’t hear himself, desperate as he is not to wake his son. “I’ll always be here for you. I’ll always protect you.”orfive times owen comforted t.k. when he was hurt (and one time he couldn't)
Relationships: Owen Strand & TK Strand
Comments: 14
Kudos: 123
Collections: 9-1-1 Lone Star Week





	i promise (i'll do better)

**Author's Note:**

> my submission for day two of lone star week. prompt - i'll be by your side
> 
> Anon: Hey, I was wondering if you could do a TK sick or injured fic with the focus on Owen doing the comfort?? I’m loving your writing. 
> 
> title from light by sleeping at last

The second Owen lays eyes on his son, he immediately knows he’d do anything to protect him from harm. He doesn’t know yet just how difficult that will be, but he suspects - although even his wildest suspicions don’t even begin to cover it. He still swears it, though, right there in the hospital, while Gwyneth is resting and Tyler is asleep in his arms.

“I promise, Tyler Kennedy Strand,” he whispers, almost so quiet he can’t hear himself, desperate as he is not to wake his son. “I’ll always be here for you. I’ll always protect you.”

* * *

_i._

When Tyler is four - though they’ve switched to calling him T.K. now, his full name becoming too much of a mouthful, and just generally _too much_ \- he falls while playing with some friends in the park.

At first, Owen expects him to get up and walk it off; T.K.’s tough like that. And, at first, it seems like he will. He pushes himself until he’s sitting rather than lying on the ground, but instead of getting to his feet, he just stares at his hands.

Owen’s up and moving before the first tear even begins to fall, kneeling next to his son and putting an arm around him protectively. T.K.’s not too injured, fortunately - he’s skinned both of his knees and there’s a tiny cut on his right palm - but Owen knows that the shock of the fall would have been worse than the actual pain itself.

T.K. sniffles and turns his face into Owen’s shoulder, his head tucked under Owen’s chin.

“You’re okay,” Owen murmurs. He pulls away and tilts T.K.’s face up to look at him. “C’mon, bud. How about we get you cleaned up, then we can get some ice cream?”

T.K.’s face lights up and he bounds to his feet, injury forgotten. Owen is slower to get up, his knees cracking, but he smiles as he watches T.K. race around, grinning at the prospect of ice cream despite his bloody knees.

Owen wishes all of a sudden that skinned knees and playground falls would be the only pain his son would ever have to worry about.

* * *

_ii._

By the time T.K. is fourteen, it’s abundantly clear to Owen why his friends warned him about the teenage years. He’s angry what seems like all the time, pulling away from Owen and shutting himself in his room, snapping over dinner, and his grades are dropping.

Part of Owen knows this is normal - or, at the very least, something all parents have to go through. The other part of him knows it’s far from normal, even for a teenager; T.K. has had, after all, a far from normal upbringing.

And, yeah, Owen knows pretty much every kid over the age of ten in New York has felt the impact of 9/11. Christ, the entire country - the entire _world_ \- felt it, maybe even still feels.

But not every kid’s dad was there. Not every kid had to deal with the fact that their parent might not come back - though their family was one of the luckier ones in that regard. Not every kid went through a divorce on top of everything else.

Point is, T.K.’s always had it harder than most, but Owen knows that still doesn’t fully explain this new behaviour. Particularly not when he gets a call one morning, telling him that T.K.’s been in a fight and could he please come in to collect him?

Except Owen can’t go, the alarm going off in the middle of the call, so the school just sends him home, though the woman on the phone clearly disapproves. Gwyneth normally deals with this kind of thing, but she’s away at a conference out of state, so Owen’s left to pick up the slack.

Fortunately, the shift’s only 12 hours, so he’s back home by seven; still not ideal, but it’s the better circumstance. T.K.’s sat on the couch when he gets in, a bag of frozen peas defrosting on the table next to him.

Owen clears his throat and T.K. whips around, exposing a split lip and a developing black eye.

“You should see the other guy,” he says, but the joke falls flat, and he sighs, turning back around and hanging his head. Owen walks over and sits next to him, wincing at the way T.K. shifts away.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asks, as gently as he can. Anger, he’s decided, will not help here.

T.K. shrugs. “I got in a fight. It’s no big deal.”

“No big -” Owen stops and lets out a breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “Alright, let’s try this again. Why were you fighting?”

“It was nothing.”

“T.K.”

“Nothing, I swear!”

“So you just hit him?” Owen lets a little anger into his voice, and it’s enough to get T.K.’s attention, his gaze sliding over briefly before snapping back to the floor.

“No,” he admits. “It’s just. He said some stuff. Called me a -” He stops abruptly, then shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Owen raises his eyebrows. “So some kid called you a name, does that mean you should hit him?” he asks. “Come on, T.K., you’re fourteen, not four.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and Owen knows it as soon as the words leave his mouth. T.K. rounds on him, fury in his eyes, but it’s the tears that accompany it that surprise Owen.

“You really want to know?” T.K. demands, though he doesn’t give Owen a chance to answer. “He told me it was my fault you and Mom split up. Said that it’s no wonder neither of you are around considering I’m a -” He stops, stricken. “A f - The f-word,” he finishes quietly.

Owen frowns. “Fuck?” he says, though he doesn’t mean to. He winces, but it’s enough to get T.K. to crack a small smile, brief as it is.

“No, Dad,” he says, strangely gentle. “The other one.”

“The other… Oh.”

“Yeah.” T.K. chews on his lip, then turns to Owen, apparently making his mind up about something. “It’s true, Dad. I’m a - I’m gay.”

“Oh.” And Owen knows that’s not the right thing to say, but he can’t find the right words just now. He watches his son, sorrow filling him at the tears in T.K.’s eyes, at the apprehension on his face, the doubt. Owen hates himself for it.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Owen says eventually. “I’ll always love you, no matter what.”

“Really?”

Owen smiles. “Yeah, really.”

And before he can get another word out, T.K.’s hugging him, so tight that Owen can’t breathe for a second. Once he’s got his breath back, he laughs, and brings his arms around T.K., only just then realising how much he had been missing this.

* * *

_iii._

The call comes in the middle of the night, just as Owen is finally dozing off after a 24-hour shift. He’s awake and pulling on clothes before he’s even aware he’s moving, calling a cab as soon as the woman puts the phone down. All his instincts are screaming at him to get in the car and drive, but common sense tells him that he’d probably crash it, tired and anxious as he is, and that’s the last thing everyone needs.

The cab doesn’t pick him up for another fifteen minutes, New York traffic playing havoc even at this late hour, and Owen gets more jittery by the second. By the time he’s en route, his mind has gone through every potential scenario, each one worse than the last.

 _Fuck,_ how could he have missed this? Sure, he’d noticed that T.K. had become more withdrawn from him recently, and he’s aware that his son likes going out and partying more than is advisable, but he’d just chalked it up to being young.

And yet… The more Owen thinks about it, the more he realises the signs were all there, and he’d missed every single one of them. T.K. had almost died tonight, and it’s all Owen’s fault.

He’s never going to forgive himself for this.

The receptionist at the front desk points him to T.K.’s room, her kind smile doing nothing to calm Owen’s nerves. He races there, earning himself several reproachful looks from staff, but he can’t bring himself to care. He needs to see his son.

T.K.’s room is dark, but through the windows, Owen can make out his prone form in the bed. His heart leaps in fear, but then he sees the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the heart monitor beeping out a steady rhythm.

Owen breathes out shakily, taking a moment to compose himself before heading inside.

T.K.’s awake, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He doesn’t acknowledge Owen’s presence in the room, and Owen feels his heart break a little, noting how thin, how small his son looks in the hospital bed.

God, he’s really failed this time, hasn’t he?

But he drags his thoughts away from his own failures; T.K. is all that matters now. Owen eases himself into the chair next to the bed, debating whether or not to speak.

He decides against it eventually, instead just laying a hand on T.K.’s shoulder. T.K. looks over then, briefly, before returning his gaze to the ceiling. But he doesn’t brush Owen off, which he takes as his first victory.

Small steps, he tells himself. Small steps.

* * *

_iv._

T.K. rarely gets sick; even as a kid, he’d tended to avoid all the coughs and colds that plagued his school friends. His system had taken a hit after the overdose, but recently he’s seemed to have regained most of his old immunity.

Which is why it’s even more concerning when he calls in sick one morning, sounding even over the phone like death warmed up. Owen has to just take it at the time, no time to check on him before his shift, but he’s over to T.K.’s apartment like a shot as soon as he’s done, the fact that it’s the early hours be damned.

T.K. takes a while to answer his knocks, and Owen’s considering breaking in when the door swings open.

“What the hell, Dad?” T.K. croaks, shuffling to the side to let Owen in. Owen doesn’t bother answering, instead surveying the mess strewn all around the place. T.K. doesn’t obsess over cleaning, but he’s generally fairly tidy, and never this messy; the table is buried in tissues, unwashed plates are stacked in the sink, and the laundry basket is overflowing. It makes Owen wonder how long T.K.’s been ill for without saying anything, but he chooses not to think about that too much.

But one look at his son confirms that he’s been feeling under the weather for a while - a few days, at the very least. He’s got tired bags under his eyes, and his face is pale and drawn. He’s hunched over, blankets wrapped around his thin shoulders, and he looks like he’s about to fall over any second.

It reminds Owen violently of the hell withdrawal had wreaked on T.K., on his body, though he’d been mercifully spared most of the fallout from that. T.K. had lasted it out in rehab and, whilst Owen had visited as much as he’d been able, he’d still had a job to hold down.

He wonders if he should feel guilty about being grateful for that.

He shakes the thought from his head and steers T.K. over to the couch, easing him down into it even as T.K. weakly swats at him. Owen glances around the room again and sighs.

“Okay,” he says, then sets to work, starting off with the rubbish on the coffee table.

“Dad, don’t -” T.K. starts, but Owen sends him a look.

“Shut up, T.K.,” he says, and T.K. does.

Owen cleans the entire apartment, guiding T.K. to bed as soon as he starts dropping off because falling asleep on the sofa is the last thing he needs. It’s late when he’s done; too late, he reasons, to go home now. His uniform’s with him in his bag and, besides, he knows he’ll sleep better here with T.K. in the next room.

Sure, T.K. will probably be pissed when he wakes up and finds him still here, but Owen thinks that that’s a price he’s willing to pay.

* * *

_v._

T.K.’s silent the entire way back from the hospital. So is Owen. There’s no point trying to force a conversation now; T.K. will talk when he’s ready.

They go back to Owen’s apartment, and T.K. heads straight to the roof. Owen is scared for a brief second, but then T.K. turns to look back at him, letting him know that he wanted Owen to follow.

T.K. barely looks at him as they talk, but it’s impossible to miss the shame and guilt in his expression. Owen tries to comfort his son as best he can, wishes he could tell him that everything’s okay, but he can’t. Nothing about this is okay.

He doesn’t know what to do. It's all too much - Alex, the fact that Owen’s not sure it was as accidental as T.K. claim, his own cancer diagnosis. Even the New York air is stifling to him now.

Owen has lived in this city for pretty much his entire life. He loves it here. Everything he cares about is here. And yet.

Owen makes a split second decision.

“Pack your stuff,” he says. “We’re getting out of town.”

* * *

_+1_

It’s the sort of thing Owen’s been dreading, ever since T.K. decided to follow him into firefighting. He’s always tried to shove the fear to the back of his mind, because their job is dangerous; getting hurt is an inevitability.

The job has put T.K. in the hospital before, but usually it’s just smoke inhalation, or some other simple, non-threatening injury. Nothing like this.

Owen’s trying to be optimistic; the doctors have told him there’s no reason not to be. T.K.’s young, healthy, and the surgery went as well as it could have done. But he also knows that T.K. almost died in that house, and there’s still a chance that Michelle just delayed it by a day or so.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to clear his mind. He succeeds, for a moment, but all the thoughts are back as soon as he opens them again, the sight of T.K. in that bed bringing too many memories back.

It’s the third time he’s almost lost his son, and the second in six months. He wonders morbidly if they’ve finally run out of chances, but he knows he shouldn’t think like that either.

This is different, though. Before, Owen was able to comfort T.K., to talk to him and hold him through the worst of it. He can’t do anything now except sit, and wait, and pray that T.K. will wake up.

Helpless is not something Owen Strand is accustomed to feeling. And yet, as it settles deep inside his bones, he wonders if it will ever go away again.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you guys enjoyed! as always, i am @morganaspendragonss on tumblr - come find me!


End file.
